


Vagabond is You

by wingedblue



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellarke Friendship, M/M, Pre-Slash, Runaway AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 00:52:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3709037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedblue/pseuds/wingedblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Murphy is a runaway and Bellamy is sympathetic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vagabond is You

**Author's Note:**

> Written late at night while having feelings. Idea from one of those AU prompt lists, which I lost, because I'm incompetent, which was just a "One is a runaway AU."
> 
> Rated M just to be safe ok guys
> 
> (Title from "Vagabond" by Misterwives)
> 
> EDIT: I found the prompt!   
> ["my parents kicked me out and you’re the only person that bothered to ask the crying, obviously lost kid with a suitcase if something was the matter" au ](http://cosmicbuckys.tumblr.com/post/114808191915/aus-to-consider)

Bellamy was having a shit day, to say the least. How he'd managed to spill an entire bottle of hot sauce on his shirt was inexplicable, but the pointless argument with his housemate and best friend, Clarke, really could've been avoided. Hopefully, she wasn't still stewing in her art studio. Not to mention, he'd had to stay late for work, so it was past 9:30 when he finally got into his car.

As he drove, he catalogued what they had in the fridge. Making something complicated was definitely off the table, as was eggs and toast for dinner. Clarke might still have dumplings in the freezer, but if she was still angry, Bellamy thought it might be better to leave them alone. Maybe he could order delivery...

He pulled into the driveway behind Clarke's truck. All the lights in her studio were on: obviously, Clarke was still busy with whatever project she was working on. As he climbed out, a white blur streaked between his legs and up to the front door.

"Goddamnit, Lilo," he muttered. The cat stared at him innocently and twitched her ears. He slammed the car door and started towards the stairs.

As he pulled out his key, something caught his eye. There was a hunched figure on the curb up the block: it looked like a man, but Bellamy wasn't sure. They sure looked suspicious, though, so he went back down and crept slowly towards the figure.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" he said loudly, once he was a few feet away. The figure startled and looked up, revealing greasy brown hair and a very straight nose set in an angular, but obviously young face. Bellamy suppressed his confusion.

"What do you want?" the kid said aggressively, glaring.

"I want you to get off my curb and go home, kid." Bellamy crossed his arms and stood up straighter, trying to make himself look intimidating. 

"'S not your curb," he muttered. Bellamy squinted at him, contemplating whether or not to call the cops and have them take him and his huge duffel bag away. There was a bit of filth smudged along his cheekbones, and-- _wait, were those tear tracks?_

"Were you crying?" Bellamy blurted. He silently cursed his big mouth. The kid jumped to his feet, puffing his chest and looking ready to fight.

"Bitch, I might've been," he growled. "Fuck do you care?" Bellamy narrowed his eyes even further.

"Do you even have a home to go back to?" The kid deflated almost immediately, taking a few steps back.

"M--maybe," he stuttered, looking at the ground.

"Oh..." Bellamy's posture softened. The poor guy looked devastated. Angry and prickly, yes, but scared and lonely too. "Hey, kid..."

"I'll leave, just go away," he hissed. He reached down and heaved his duffel onto his shoulder.

"What's your name?" Bellamy asked.

"Luke Skywalker."

"Hilarious. How old are you?"

"Old enough. Why d'you wanna know?" he spat.

"Seriously, dude, c'mon," Bellamy said, exasperated. "I'm trying to help you out here."

"Nobody asked you to do that, though," the kid said belligerently. He looked like his resolve was wearing down, though, so Bellamy gave it one last nudge.

"I know. If you really have no place to stay, I mean..." Bellamy looked pointedly at his house. The kid hesitated, eyes flicking between Bellamy and the house. He seemed skittish, unsure of whether to bolt or keep talking. 

(Bellamy honestly wasn't sure why he was offering this scrappy kid help, much less implying an offer to stay with him.Maybe it was the tear tracks.) 

"Murphy. Everyone calls me Murphy," he said slowly, after a long pause.

"Nice to meet you Murphy. I'm Bellamy." He held out a hand. Murphy tentatively shook it. His fingers were icy against Bellamy's. "Are you cold?"

"A bit," he mumbled.

"Well, if you can promise you aren't an axe murderer or something, feel free to come inside," Bellamy offered, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. Murphy gave a little smirk.

"Yeah. Not an axe murderer, but I'm flattered." Bellamy rolled his eyes and beckoned him along as he turned and sauntered up to the front door.

"Ok, fair warning, my roommate might still be mad at me right now, so be civil, please." Murphy mock-saluted. Lilo the cat was still waiting by the door, and as soon as he stepped onto the porch of the townhouse, she started weaving through his legs and nuzzling her head against his shins.

Bellamy sat Murphy down at the kitchen table and turned on the electric kettle. He offered the boy some tea, which he declined, and some crackers he found in the cupboard, which he gratefully accepted and immediately began shoving his face with.

"Bell, why--" Clarke stopped in the doorway, looking tired in a tank top and a pair of Bellamy's boxers with her hair in a bun. She frowned at Murphy (who still had a rather sizeable amount of crackers in his mouth). "Who's this?"

"Clarke, this is Murphy. Murphy, this is my best friend, Clarke." Bellamy discreetly crossed his fingers that Murphy wouldn't say anything stupid.

"Nice to--is that blood on your shirt?" she said, cutting herself off mid-sentence and pointing at his dark tee. Now, in the light, Bellamy could see a splatter of brown in the faded black material. Murphy pulled his jacket closed, glaring defensively.

"Maybe," he mumbled. Clarke turned her exasperated gaze on her best friend.

"What's he doing here?" she asked.

"Clarke, can I talk to you for a sec?" he placed his hand gently on her shoulder and guided her out of the kitchen. She turned around to face him, arms crossed and foot tapping.

"Who is he? Why's he covered in blood?" she demanded.

"Ok, Clarke I want you to trust me. I found him outside, he's pretty young, he doesn't have anywhere to go, and he's freezing. I didn't know he was bleeding. Please," he begged, laying on the puppy eyes thick. She scrutinized his face for a while before peeking back around the door at Murphy.

"I dunno, Bellamy, he seems a little creepy," she whispered.

"He does, I admit, but... I think that's just his face, honestly." He hoped that Murphy didn't hear that. Clarke hesitated, giving their guest one last glance.

"Ok, fine. One night. And I need to know why he's bleeding. It's making me nervous." Bellamy sighed in relief. They walked back into the kitchen to find Murphy examining Clarke's baby succulents on the counter.

"These are cool," he said nonchalantly.

"Thanks. Murphy, right?" Clarke said. He hummed in assent. "You can stay here tonight--" he looked up at her with wide, disbelieving eyes. "--if you a, promise not to take anything, and b, tell me why you're bleeding. If you're staying, I need to know if you're going to bleed on the sheets."

"Scout's honor on the no-thievery policy, ma'am." Bellamy looked at him expectantly. "The blood is nothing. Got a cut." Clarke raised her eyebrow.

"From what?" Bellamy asked, now curious.

"A sharp... thing?" Murphy said evasively.

"Lemme see," Clarke said, beckoning for him to stand up and come closer. He sat stock-still for a few moments before slowly getting up and shedding his jacket. He begrudgingly pulled up the bottom of his dark shirt at some encouragement from Bellamy.

"Yikes," she murmured, letting out a low whistle. There was a crooked gash, about three inches long, on the left under his ribcage. It had scabbed over for the most part, but it looked like it hadn't been cleaned and it was a bit yellow.

"Bastard tried to take my bag," Murphy explained. "I kicked his ass, but he nicked me."

"That looks a little more than a nick, Murphy," Bellamy said slowly.

"Eh, same thing." He shrugged.

"Um, I'm gonna go get the first aid kit, ok? I just wanna disinfect it and bandage it," Clarke said, turning back towards the rest of the house. Murphy tried to protest, but Bellamy gestured for him to be quiet.

"Don't even try," he said. "It won't do anything." He reached out and prodded the hot skin around the cut. Murphy grunted in pain and shrank away from the unexpected contact. "Also, that doesn't look so great."

"Ouch." He glared at Bellamy. Clarke returned with the kit and scissors and opened it up.

"Hey, Clarke, I can handle it," Bellamy offered. "I know you were about to go to bed." She hesitated, then set down the scissors.

"Ok, if you're sure. Disinfect it really well, ok?" He pulled her into a hug and kissed the top of her soft hair.

"Night, princess." She gave him one last squeeze.

"Goodnight, Bell. Murphy." With that, she padded out of the kitchen and up to her bedroom. Bellamy turned to the first aid kit.

"You two seem close. Sure you're not, y'know--"

"She is currently dating a girl named Lexa. No romantic feelings here," he said. _Well, not any more._

"Oh. Sweet."

"You know, it would be easier if you took your shirt off," Bellamy said quietly. Murphy shrugged and quickly slipped his jacket and shirt off. "Maybe you should take a shower first," he suggested quickly. Murphy nodded. Bellamy led him to the bathroom and got him set up with the faulty shower knob and a towel, then left him alone for 15 minutes. It occurred to him that Murphy might want a change of clothes, so he picked out a pair of smallish sweatpants and a t-shirt.

(He really tried not to think about how cute the boy _in his shower_ was. Murphy was probably underage, and it felt dirty that he was even thinking about it.)

Remembering his tea, Bellamy ducked back in the kitchen to brew some. He set out another mug of mint tea, next to the folded spare clothes, just in case Murphy'd changed his mind.

The boy in question entered the room soon after, back in his dirty jeans and towelling off his (surprisingly, rather long) hair. He was, as requested, shirtless. Bellamy _very pointedly_ didn't look at his flat, pale torso. He wasn't nearly as big as Bellamy, but Bellamy could see lean muscle definition underneath his milky skin. There was a few tiny moles on his chest and a triplet of them right above his left hip. He tore his eyes away guiltily.

"I--You can borrow those," Bellamy said, pointing at the sweatpants and shirt.

"What, really?" Murphy said, somewhat suspiciously. Bellamy shrugged, then nodded. "Thanks. So, you gonna fix me up now, doc?"

Bellamy snorted and picked up the hydrogen peroxide. Murphy winced but sipped his tea without a word as Bellamy disinfected the cut.

"You're lucky this wasn't deeper," he remarked, digging around in the first-aid kit for antibacterial cream. "Hey, you never told me your full name," he said, trying to make conversation.

"Uh. It's, uh. John Murphy."

"Murphy's your last name?"

"Yeah. Had a friend as a kid also named John. I was Murphy, he was Mbege. It stuck." Bellamy nodded and smeared the cream over the cut. "And, I'm eighteen, if you were wondering. Birthday was last month."

"Happy late birthday." He started cutting the gauze down.

"Ok, I told you mine, now tell me yours."

"Uh, my last name's Blake. I'm 23." With great precision, he positioned the gauze over the cut. "Hold that for me." Murphy did, and Bellamy taped it down as gently as he could.

"Have I been saved?" Murphy joked lightly.

"Ha. Don't mess with it, and if it starts bleeding or hurting, tell me." He cleaned up the first aid kit and pushed it down the counter. He'd put it away later.

"Aw, aren't you gonna kiss it all better?" the boy mocked. Bellamy choked on his tea, spluttering for a moment. "Calm down, I was kidding."

"Oh thank god," Bellamy said sarcastically.

"Sorry I hurt your masculinity, pretty boy," Murphy said as he put the t-shirt on. He didn't look very sorry, Bellamy thought. Then it occurred to him.

"So, how does someone like you end up with nowhere to stay?" Murphy's smirk dropped instantly, face darkening.

"I fell in love," he said bluntly, staring down into his tea. Bellamy took an unconscious step back from Murphy's almost serial-killer-ish glare.

"And what, your parents didn't like her?"

"No, they didn't like _him_." Bellamy let out a low whistle through his teeth.

"You know, I kind of get it."

"Get what?" he spat.

"When I came out, my mother didn't speak to me for three months. Said I was a bad influence on my little sister." Murphy looked up at him in disbelief.

"What do mean, came out?"

"Yeah. I'm queer. Surprise," he said weakly.

"Oh." They stared at eachother for a little.

"I just. I figured. Statistics and all that." Bellamy said, doing his best to sound confident. Murphy contemplated all this before getting up off his stool and standing right in front of Bellamy.

"So. I guess you wouldn't mind if I did this?" Bellamy squeaked as Murphy rather aggressively grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him down to kiss him, hard. It was messy and filthy and, _oh god,_ Bellamy wanted. He stepped forward, taking control and shoving Murphy up against the counter. He tasted like mint tea and salt. One of them moaned, Bellamy wasn't sure which. He lifted the lighter boy up on the countertop, nestling his hips between his thin legs. Murphy's hands were all over, sliding down his back, gripping his shoulders, tangling in his hair. Bellamy shoved his hands up under Murphy's shirt, pressing them close together and broke the kiss. Murphy made a grunt of disapproval, which turned into a long moan as Bellamy started kissing and nibbling down his throat, sucking on his collarbone.

A bang and a clatter sounded from upstairs. Bellamy looked at the ceiling guiltly.

"Whatever you guys are doing, cut it out!" Clarke yelled, obviously having heard Murphy. Bellamy laughed a little and looked at the boy. He hair was disheveled and his lips were pretty and puffy and pink from kissing.

"Wanna go upstairs?"

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, comments, bookmarks all deeply appreciated! This is unbeta'd so please tell me about any mistakes. 
> 
> Tumblr: cosmicbuckys (hmu friends)


End file.
